Willard at the Beach

El Rude-o on the fundraisers down the street from Fixer's house:

At what point in yesterday's bacchanalia on the beach did Mitt Romney think things had might have gone too far? Held at the ocean-kissing home of billionaire David Koch, it was a $50,000 a head fundraiser for the ostensible Republican nominee for president. Really, one well-placed drone attack and the moral balance of the world would have instantly improved significantly.

Word. One round woulda got 'em all. Sigh.

At Koch's joint, Romney's lips were already chapped because of all the moneyed dick and clit he had engorged in the first two gatherings. He turned to Ann, who smiled and knew her job for the rest of the evening. God, it was an awful spectacle. Ann Romney was handed around like a blow-up doll during hazing time at a frat house filled with pledges. Mitt watched, loyal husband, as the financiers and corporate CEOs and executives took turns, sometimes two or three at a time, and Ann graciously, even lady-like, took it all, all the pricks and twats, all the fingers and tongues, all the juices and jizz, like a fountain in reverse. If Mitt didn't know better, he'd think that Ann enjoyed it. When the hosts, David and Charles Koch, were done tag-team fisting her, they said they had a surprise, one that they knew Mitt would go along with. When they brought out the horse, Mitt didn't even feel queasy. How else would he earn enough filthy lucre to surpass the vaunted Obama fundraising machine? He winked at Ann and, oh, a splendid time was had by all. Especially the horse.

Of course, there was no alcohol or caffeine. You have to draw the line somewhere.

Heh.